


The curious case of the animal transforming Vigors

by Kayuri



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: All kinds of animals, Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Animal Instincts, Animal Transformation, Animals, Autistic Booker DeWitt, Autistic Elizabeth (BioShock), Booker turns into animals, Books went on a tagging spree, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Lizzy is very happy about it, Misuse of Vigors, Most of the time, Swearing, Vigors malfunction everywhere, basically a crackfic, basically every time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22334329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayuri/pseuds/Kayuri
Summary: Dear ol' Books and I decided to collab on this!  Pure crackfiction, Booker ends up being turned into several animals due to either his current Vigor malfunctioning, drinking a new one (really Booker, you should know better than to drink unknown stuff), or just general shenanigans.
Relationships: Booker DeWitt & Elizabeth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	1. Feathers

The fight with the Zealot had, unfortunately, dragged on for quite some time now, and Booker seriously ran on steam by now. He had no idea what this one took, but he was, quite obviously, a lot stronger than his brethren. Elizabeth sat in a corner, quaking in both fear for him (in his opinion quite misplaced), and in anticipation for a small window in which she could safely throw ammunition, salts and health packs at him. That window came sooner than she expected, when the Zealot started to crumble, running on steam just like Booker himself. They’ve been at it for a good 30 minutes, longer than most other battles in this goddamn city ever lasted. Once the small window was open and Elizabeth threw him ammunition though, it was over quickly. The crows making up the majority of the Zealot’s body flew away, leaving discarded robes and a leftover bottle of Murder of Crows.

“This took way too long,” Booker grinded out while taking the bottle. It didn’t look different from the other one he found, the liquid inside sloshing around, “Let’s get that over with then…” He muttered gruffly, dislodging the stopper, then throwing it back. Usually this restored a fair amount of his salt stores, and it did so now too. What _wasn’t_ usual though was the flurry of feathers following, feathers that definitely weren’t a hallucination if Elizabeth’s gasp was any indication. The white-hot stab of pain after the feathers was worse than anything he felt so far, as was the itching all over his body, as if everything was simultaneously too tight and too big. A hoarse scream tore itself out of his throat, and blackness encroached.

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When he woke up, it was to the voice of Elizabeth calling out for him, and the strange feeling of being cradled. Which, in and of itself was something he hadn’t experienced in _years_ , considering his size and age.

“Thank goodness, you’re awake. You scared me, Booker.” Elizabeth’s voice was a bit rough, like she had been on the verge of crying. When Booker did open his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the girl suddenly looked a fair bit larger than she should be. He was the one that towered over her, not the other way around… the next thing was, that his whole body felt weird, smaller than it should be, and that he couldn’t really feel his fingers. Which promised problems. Big problems.

“Booker…” he turned his head to Elizabeth, who did look conflicted, then opened a tear to get out a small hand mirror.

“That vigor must’ve been corrupted or something. Take a look.” That didn’t bode well for him, did it? When she showed him the reflective surface and he saw a rather big bird staring back he could feel his jaw drop. In the mirror, the raven followed suit. It even had the same ascot he… had… He stilled. So did the raven. He moved his arm. The ravens corresponding wing moved. Slowly, Booker turned his head, staring at his body. Black feathers and wings greeted him. He screeched, flinching at the sound. _What_ did they even put in these Vigors that this was possible? Humans shouldn’t turn into animals! At all! He could feel his feathers puff out, then a dainty pair of hands around his body.

“Shh, it’s all right Booker. We'll fix this, but calm down.” Elizabeth’s voice cut through the haze of panic in his mind, reeling him back into reality. He crooned involuntarily, glaring at her.

“Cut that out, Booker.” She admonished gently, carefully threading her fingers through his feathers. He shuddered, the feeling was both alien and… comforting? Yes, comforting. Oh god, what if he was _stuck_ like this now? How was he supposed to do his job? He sneaked another look at Elizabeth, who gently put him on her shoulder, mindful of his talons.

“Try to hold on, Booker. Maybe we can use this while it lasts. No one would suspect the fearsome “False Shepherd” to be a bird, would they?” Well, he supposed not. Still though, why did all this weird shit always happen to him? He cawed angrily, the sound so foreign to his own ears.

“Yes, I know you don’t like this.” She rolled her eyes, then quickly opened her ribbon, letting her hair flow free while she put the mirror back into the tear, opening up a different one to take out a vest to throw over her blouse.

“That way I’m not as noticeable either.” She mumbled. Booker quickly adjusted his stance on her shoulder, feeling his tail feathers fan out a bit to help him balance.

“Ready to go! Let’s see what this part of Columbia has to offer, shall we? Hopefully we can find a cure for this.” She hummed, adjusting his ascot a bit. How that one still fit him was a mystery, one he wasn’t to keen on unraveling at this moment. The issue of him being a goddamn raven was more pressing than that.

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The moment he and Elizabeth entered the streets that were lived in, she was swarmed by people cooing over her “pet bird". Where did she get him, how come he just stayed on her shoulder, why did he glare at people? Booker felt uncomfortable by all the attention, fanning out both wings and tail feathers, beak slightly opened to dissuade people from coming closer. A low caw was in his throat, and if he could, he’d make all these people back off again. What the hell was there issue? You don’t just swamp a young girl like Elizabeth. When one man attempted to pet his head he quickly twisted his neck, pecking the man’s finger strong enough to make it bleed.

“WHAT THE HELL?” the resulting scream was loud enough to raise the dead in Booker’s humble opinion, and he felt quite ready to peck the man a second time.

“I’m so sorry, Mister. You see, he doesn’t like people he doesn’t know just touching him, he has bad experiences from that.” Elizabeth cut in quickly, snatching Booker from her shoulder to scratch his head. He shuddered again, but leant into the touch. Purely to hold up the masquerade, of course. Not because it felt calming, of course not!

“Feh, keep a better eye on that bird, Lady.” The man spat, turning away. The crowd dissipated soon after, making Booker breathe a sigh of relief. Or a croaking caw of relief, considering the current state of his vocal chords. Elizabeth picked up his discomfort rather fast, walking through the street as fast as she could without drawing attention.

“We’re almost through here.” She whispered to him, hands still spidering over his feathers. The end of the street had a police blockade though, and by the looks of it, despite her disguising herself a bit, they recognized Elizabeth. She started running the second they spotted her, turning into an alley that ended in a small back plaza.

“Surrender yourself! Father Comstock wants you back, and we will deliver!” Booker shrieked back at the policemen once he heard and processed their words, instincts taking over. He spread his wings, swinging himself into the air. Automatically he selected a Vigor from his arsenal, the telltale embers of Devils Kiss forming on his wing tips. When he zoomed past the policemen he let loose an inferno, one that was a fair bit stronger than the average blast he usually used. The happiness about this was short lived, the next wave of policemen already coming up. He screeched louder than before, diving at one to scratch him, sparks flying off his wings. They fell just like the first batch, and then his skin felt too tight for his own good. He curled into himself, screeches suddenly multiplying as a bunch of crows flew out of his body. A moment later it felt as if he was shedding his own skin (a feeling Booker did not really like), feathers flew off, and he stared at his own, tanned arms again.

“What the fuck?”


	2. Hooves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like the raven-incident wasn't a one time occurrence...

Booker was still shaking slightly from turning back into a human. Every time he looked at his arms, he expected them to turn back into wings crested by black feathers, and with every time it didn’t happen, he felt more reassured. Still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was only the start of it all. A feeling that would soon prove itself to be true.

„Another Vigor, Elizabeth? “Booker looked at it with scepticism. After the last time he wasn’t exactly keen on repeating that.

„I know you’re wary of it, Booker, but up here we need every upgrade we can get. “She rubbed her arm.

„I’m gonna store it for later. Should give a good kick if we really need it, “Booker huffed, putting the bottle inside his vest pocket, “There are soldiers ahead. Stay hidden. “He said tensely, getting out the machine gun he picked up earlier. God, he really hoped there wouldn’t be another animal episode right now. It would be hard to properly adjust again. When he listened to the conversation it piqued his interest. Slate? Here? Well look at that. He was discovered a moment later, gun blazing already. It all went surprisingly well, up until Booker didn’t concentrate as well as he did during the whole fight, not quite paying attention to his equipped Vigor and how he used it. A short moment later he was smaller and feathery again and hacked at the last soldier standing. The soldier fell a moment later from shock, bullet holes and blood loss. This time shedding the feathers for human skin went way easier, nothing of the feeling of being too large for your own skin.

„That… is still a bit of a rush. “He shook himself, then looked at the Skyline.

„Let’s go, Elizabeth. We're almost at the Hall. “A short Skyline ride later they arrived at the plaza, and immediately they were swarmed by Founders, snipers, a few of Slate’s men (he recognized them from his old unit), and one very annoying Zealot. Those were done in somewhat fast, except the Zealot. Booker growled to himself. He seemed to have the worst luck regarding these ones. And he was as good as out of salts. All… except the new Vigor. He cast a quick look around, then uncorked and downed it. The sight of his hands splitting apart was rather horrifying, and he really hoped he’d never have to see that again. The Zealot was killed in his frenzy of hallucination, and he felt himself stumbling inside the Hall, skin feeling too tight yet again. Just what was up with these Vigors? This just couldn’t be normal. Elizabeth came into the entrance hall a moment later, seeing him slumped against the Motorized Patriot. He was panting, and he felt way too warm. When he did glance at his hands, he could’ve gotten a heart attack. They were curling together, hardening. Hooves. He had hooves. Big ones too, definitely not dainty ones like… like saddlebreds. The fur that grew out of his wrists, fur that hung over them clued him in to that as well.

„I ‘m starting to hate these Vigors. “He groaned, trying to avoid focusing on how his body was twisting itself, that his clothes had (somehow) disappeared under an onslaught of fur, muscle and sheer size. Shivers wracked his body, subsiding only when nothing resembled him anymore. Nothing except his eyes, still as green as ever, and his ascot, still hanging around his neck. A pitiful nicker escapes his throat as he tries to get up, unused to being quadrupedal and even larger than he usually was. Oh god, he was a horse, wasn’t he? And if the sight of his hooves was any indication, he wasn’t a saddlebreed either.

„Oh god, Booker… “Elizabeth was coming closer, gently ran a hand over his fur. He could feel his muscles contracting, twitching. It didn’t feel bad, just like being pet while he was a raven, „Just what are these Vigors doing to you? “She asked no one in particular, gently taking his head to hug it. „It’s okay. If this is anything like the bird thing you can turn back soon. “She ran a hand over his forehead, and he could feel his ears swivel forward. He snorts quietly, gently nosing her shoulder. He was so much bigger than her… and a lot more massive too. „You look like a Clydesdale. “She murmured, still running her hand over his fur. It felt nice, to be honest. „It suits you; I think. “He rolled his eyes at that. Sure, being a giant horse suited him. Oh well, might as well deal with the situation at hand. He trotted to the door after nosing Elizabeth one more time, breaking it open with ease. A salt dispenser and a ticket booth greeted Booker and Elizabeth, and she quickly scurried inside of the booth when she heard people coming. Turned out, those two were men of Slate (and people who refused to accept Booker as one of them back at Wounded Knee).

„What the… What is a horse doing in here? “The sound of disbelief was music to Booker’s ears, and he took great joy in rearing back one hind leg and delivering a devastating kick to the soldier, who crumbled with a wheeze. Booker tossed his head at that, then rammed his head against the other soldier’s. He fell down too, and Booker was pretty sure he heard Elizabeth giggle quietly behind the counter.

„That’s gonna be aching later, but I admit that was rather funny. “She mumbled while coming out behind the counter. „Let’s go on, this Shock Jockey can’t be that far, can it? “She sounded rather hopeful, and Booker was loathing to deny her this small thing, even if this hope was misplaced. If he knew Slate, and he did, the guy probably took every last bottle to some obscure hidey hole only he could access.

„DeWitt, what in God’s name happened? “Slate sounded just as much in disbelief about the whole thing as Booker felt. The idea that there were ways Slate could watch them was a fair bit discomforting though, „You want the Shock Jockey, don’t you? Well, I can help you with that if you help me with a problem of mine,“ Booker’s ears swivelled to the speaker, and a questioning nicker escaped him,

„Comstock, the Tin Man, wants to kill me and my boys. We’ve become a thorn in his side. Give my men a Soldier’s Death, and I give you the Shock Jockey. “Yes, that sounded like Slate alright. Booker rolled his eyes in irritation, then gently shoved Elizabeth behind the rather ugly statue of Comstock in the middle of the room. Slate wanted him to kill his men. Sure, can do, but it would not be fast. Slate seemed to understand the sentiment, and opened the door, with his men storming in. For a moment they were confused when, instead of a fellow soldier they saw a giant draft horse staring them down, but when said draft horse reared up on its hind legs and charged at them with the clear intention of trampling them to death they tried to scramble and shoot. Booker’s heavy hooves were faster though, and it was a short but merciless battle. His magnetic shield worked as wonderful as ever, bullets just glancing off. He neighed loudly and tossed his head once the last soldier fell, a clear call out for Slate to let them proceed. Elizabeth also took it as her cue to come out of her hiding hole, stroking his neck. He nudged her gently, then listened for Slate.

„I admit, I’m unsure if trampled to death by horse counts as a soldiers death, but I take what I can get at this point,“ The door in front of them opened, „Young lady, would you please stop DeWitt from chewing on my soldier’s uniform?“ Booker snorted, proceeding with munching on the frilly parts of the uniform.

„Horses like to chew on things, Mister Slate. It would be rather rude of me to stop him, wouldn’t it? “Elizabeth countered, and on the inside Booker felt rather proud of her perfect execution of passive aggressive behaviour. The intercom didn’t crackle up again, so Booker counted that as a win, and let go of the fabric, „You did that on purpose, didn’t you, Booker?“ She whispered in his ear, scratching behind it absentmindedly. Booker leaned into the gesture, nodding a little bit, „Thought so, “She walked through the door to the rotunda, looking around. After a moment of silence that was somewhat awkward, she turned to him, „Can… can I ride on your back?“ Booker stared at her in bewilderment, instinctually wanting to say no, „I never rode on a horse before, and I know you’re really a human, but… please?“ She asked, her right hand on her left bicep. Booker stared at her for a long moment, then exhaled loudly, and hung his head. Might as well, no? His ears flicked, and he lied down to make it easier for her to get on. Her whole face lit up in excitement as she got on his back, a small whoop of laughter following as he stood up again. The weight on his back strangely reassured Booker, who turned his head to gently nudge her legs a bit so she’d sit right (he was cavalry, he knew how to ride a horse properly), then began to trot into the Wounded Knee exhibit.

„Your companion wrapped himself in glory on December 29th in 1890, young lady. The White Injun they called him.“ Booker ground his teeth at Slate’s words, ears lying flat against his skull. Could the man please shut up? The cutout in front of him moved, and Booker fell into a rhythm that was a bit faster than before. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Maybe Elizabeth would allow him to kick Slate like this. He certainly wouldn’t mind it. He snorted at the thought, shaking out his mane a bit. The whole exhibit was thankfully as good as empty, the one soldier in the storage room getting a taste of Booker’s hooves. The room after the Patriot practically smelled of danger though, and he tried to urge Elizabeth to get off before she’d get shot. She couldn’t understand him verbally, but the sentiment got through, so she slid off his back, giving him a quick pat on the flank. He gently nudged her for it, then moved in front of her.

„Let’s see if you’re still made of the same stuff as back then and when you were human, Booker.“ Slate said, and his people flooded the room soon after. Booker reared up with a war cry, green eyes promising violence. A promise he made good upon, his hooves dealing rather devastating damage. At one point he tried to push out Devil‘s Kiss as well, resulting in his hooves leaving burn marks on the soldiers. He felt darkly satisfied by it, even more so when he got to stomp on a Zealot. So far it was one of these who started his animal problems every time. When the last man didn’t get up, Elizabeth came up from behind her cover, running her hand through his mane to get him to calm down.

„You did this wonderfully, Booker.“ He huffs at her, blowing strands of hair out of her face. She giggled a bit at the feeling.

„Changing form didn’t hurt your abilities, Booker. Good. I’ll wait for you amongst the Boxers.“ If he could, Booker would’ve growled loudly. Instead, he stomped one hoof on the ground, then motioned for Elizabeth to get on his back again. He was way faster than she was like this. She laughed when he sat down on the stairs, climbing on quickly.

„You’re silly, Booker.“ She murmurs in his mane, holding on tight as he galloped through the hall at breakneck speed. The one soldier that had entered the rotunda was ran over and left there like a ragdoll.

„Comstock tells the story with himself as the one who burned Peking to the ground. It was me who did it. Slate, not Comstock,“ The man growled over the intercom. Booker really didn’t care at this point, powering through the doors with all the calmness he could muster. This time Elizabeth didn’t get off in time for Booker to just… run over the soldiers. Instead she held on like crazy and was treated to the sight of a Fireman running from her equine companion with nearly girlish screams. Turns out that one had a phobia of horses, „Just… come to the rotunda. The final door is open now. I’ll wait for you behind Lady Comstock’s memorial.“ Slate sounded quite exhausted, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

„Come on, let’s go.“ She hums, gently petting Booker’s neck. He twitched a bit at the contact but didn’t mind it. It took his mind off the current animal problem. Well, a bit. He had to admit, he didn’t mind this form as much as he thought he would, but it still bothered him a fair bit that this kept happening. The sound of his hooves on the ground was unfamiliar and annoying, but they proved to be very effective weapons if the need was there. And, something else he had to admit, the speed he could gain like this was fantastic. Said speed came in handy in reaching the rotunda as fast as he could. When the door opened, the two soldiers behind it came face to face with Booker, who angrily stared one down, punctuated with one loud exhale through his nostrils. That made said soldier back up even more, and then scream frightfully when Booker walked right past him. Elizabeth chuckled to herself, even more so when Booker expertly delivered a donkey kick to send both soldiers out on their asses, “You take pleasure in doing this, don’t you?“ She laughs, scratching his neck. He nickered playfully, nudging her leg again.

The stairs proved to be no big deal, not when he could basically jump down on them, leaving a few nice scratches in the tiles. Elizabeth shook her head at that but didn’t make a move to stop him. She only did that to read the plaques on the statue, “Comstock has a child?” She sounded bewildered, holding on tighter when Booker scaled the next staircase, “That wasn’t in any of my books…“ She murmured, unsure on how to react to the revelation. Booker huffed and swished his tail. A child of the Prophet not in the books? That was suspicious. The next door held the big revelation however, and not a welcome one, “I’m… I’m Comstock’s daughter…” Elizabeth sounded so betrayed when she whispered it. Like her entire world crashed around her, felled in one quick swoop. He wished he could cheer her up somehow, but he was as good as mute like this, restricted to neighs and nickers. He let out one such sound, almost questioning. Booker looked around for a moment, then sat down again, making Elizabeth slide down. He got up on all four again, then leaned his head over her shoulder, pulling her closer. He knew he was an asshole at times, but it was clear the girl needed some support. And he was the only one who would give that to her. She quickly slung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane.

“Why?” She whimpered, muffled by his mane. He huffed, not knowing why, then gently pulled her closer with one foreleg. It made her crack a small smile, and he counted that as a win. A big win, “Thank you, Booker.” She mumbled after a moment, then let go, “Can I ride on you a bit longer?” He nodded, already bending down to allow her easier access. She climbed on quickly, adjusted her legs a bit to make them rest like he basically showed her, then patted his neck. A low whinny escaped him, and he continued to prance through the exhibit, joyfully ignoring it in favour of putting scratches in the floor and kicking doors open. The metal gate in front of the small plaza put a stop to this, sadly. Elizabeth slid off his back, squeezing through the metal bars, “I’m gonna find something to open the gate.” Booker nodded, then rested his head against the gate for a moment. The coolness of it went even through his fur coat, and that kept him surprisingly warm and comfy. A sound akin to ripping fabric brought him out of his reverie, and he felt himself take an involuntary step backwards when a smaller gate with a small latch appeared where he just rested his head. Elizabeth came over to open it, then ushered him through quickly, “These tears can be useful!” she said, scratching his cheek. He absolutely didn’t lean into it or made a noise of comfort though, no.

“Comstock’s pet is quite useful, isn’t she, Booker?” Slate heckled, and Booker ground his teeth together. Did the man ever shut up at all? He stomped his right front hoof on the ground, ears turned backwards.

“Shh, don’t listen to him, Booker. You’re better than that,” Elizabeth whispered to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. The sound of yelling and Slate’s men stomping closer came suddenly, sudden enough to actually scare him, and make him dash forward in what amounted to panic. The following scramble of soldiers trying to escape him when he bucked and stomped over them wasn’t pretty, and neither was the gash he got on his lower right foreleg, one that was bleeding sluggishly. Elizabeth came over as fast as she could, already pulling a medical pack from a tear close by to wrap the wound, “You gave me quite the scare there, Booker. Let me look at this, okay?” He huffed a nod, slow and deliberate. His heart was still hammering away in his chest, and he dearly hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat of that. This kind of blind panic scared him, “All done, Booker.” Elizabeth pulled him out of his mind again, looking at him with a reassuring smile.

“Come on, the Shock Jockey should be close. And it probably puts you out of this state too.” She mused, leading him up the stairs. The following room gave him a bad feeling though, and he quickly shook his head, ears pinned back. Call it gut feeling, but this room made him heavily uncomfortable. Elizabeth picked up on this, one hand on his neck, “Deep breaths, Booker. We got this.” He nodded, following her advise. That should be doable, right? He kept his ears pinned back regardless. When that horrible automaton started up he felt rather vindicated, and charged at it while it was starting to crank its gun up, then slammed his front hooves into it with all his might, leaving deep enough dents to jam the gears that moved the hands, this leaving the thing unable to operate its gun. If he could, he’d be grinning. Instead, he settled for turning around to deliver another mighty kick into the giant back gears, followed by two more that made the metal break down. He shook himself afterwards, feeling the familiar sensation of his own skin not fitting creeping up on him. Usually he’d rejoice, but for once he wanted to keep the hooves, if only so he could give Slate the kick he deserved. The feeling ebbed away at that point. Booker snorted, a proud nicker escaping him when he opened up the storage door. The pride fell away in favour of stone-cold fury wen he saw the destroyed bottles. Slate wanted a fight? He’d get it. He nosed Elizabeth gently, urging her to get on his back again when he noticed the traps of sparking crystals. Once the girl sat safely, he began to accelerate into a full on gallop, then jumped over the traps. He heard how Elizabeth screamed from the sudden jump, but kept on running. Slate had pissed him off, and right now he still had the weapons to show the man how he thought about this. And it wouldn’t be pretty.

“COMSTOCK IS COMING, BOOKER! HE IS COMING FOR US, TO ERASE OUR HISTORY!” Slate bellowed, throwing trap after trap on the ground, traps that Booker easily jumped over. He felt Elizabeth press closer to his body, going with his movement. She learned fast. The stairs were a bit more problematic, but Booker still managed to scale them fast enough to get Slate. The man’s eyes widened when he saw the angry draft horse running at him, and decided to run himself. A run that didn’t have much use, not when the horse in question was a former soldier who was pissed. Booker managed to run past Slate, turned on his heel, then practically rammed his forehead against Slate’s own, making him fall to the ground with a resounding thud, leftover momentum carrying him a bit further. He got up after a minute or so, panic still clear on his face. The angry black Clydesdale behind him didn’t help with that panic, and it played in the end. Booker took great pleasure in delivering a, in his not-so humble opinion, magnificent donkey kick to Slate after chasing him some more. The last bottle of Shock Jockey slipped out of Slate’s hands after that kick, and Booker neighed softly, stepping away with a smug grin. That was the precise moment the feeling of his skin not fitting came back, stronger than before. Way stronger. He let it run its course though, sighing in relief when he felt his body twisting itself back into its usual form.

“This is getting out of hand...” he grumbled, picking up the bottle.

“Oh, I rather liked that form, Booker.” Elizabeth said somewhat airily.

“Of course you would,” He shook his head, throwing away the pistol Slate held out. Comstock’s people would get to him. That should be punishment enough, “Let’s get out of the hall before Comstock arrives.”


	3. Fur & claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brough to you by DeShit's procrastination, Daisy's love of cats & a bottle of kitty repellant you weren't meant to FUCKING DRINK, BOOKER!

On the way back to the First Lady Airship, Booker was still getting used to the feeling of walking on two legs again. Every once in a while, he’d stop to shake of his arms & legs, to get the feeling of having hooves out of his system. He was slightly paranoid that if he kept his fingers together for too long, they’d fuse into hooves again. He was also surprisingly skittish. Anything that suddenly showed up in his peripheral vision would make him jump, & scuttle closer to Elizabeth.

“Are you ok?” She asked him, after the tenth situation like that in the past ten minutes.

“Yeah. Just, I’m still getting used to being a human, & stuff.” Elizabeth turned around to face him, then stood up onto her tiptoes to cover his eyes.

“Horses get scared very easily. I read about it. That’s why they put blinders on their heads when racing! So that they don’t get scared by the other horses.” She rambled off with a little smile, & he just stood there & listened. He didn’t want to admit it, but the darkness _did_ help him calm down. It was calm there, he had nothing to worry about. And the physical contact, it was almost bliss after so long without kind touch.

“That’s nice, Elizabeth.” He muttered when she stopped talking.

“Booker?”

“Yes?”

“Are you crying?” And he was, he realised with embarrassment. His eyes had gone teary from her gentle touch, something he was so unused to.

“Maybe a bit. I still don’t feel completely human. It’s probably the horse genes.” Which wasn’t true, at least not entirely. He still felt too horsey for his liking. At least he wasn’t neighing anymore.

“Cry if you need to, I don’t mind.” He blew air out through his nostrils in response, making Elizabeth laugh. Damn those horse genes!

“I don’t need to cry, I promise.” Elizabeth believed him, surprisingly, & moved her hand away.

They were already back at Soldier’s Field when Booker’s foot caught on something & he crashed inelegantly to the ground.

“Mr DeWitt!” Elizabeth rushed to his side, helping him up.

Booker brushed off his pants with a groan, turning back round to see what tripped him up, “Fucking vigors.” He mumbled under his breath, picking up the vigor-like bottle. He didn’t even look at what it was a vigor off, he just uncorked it with only a second of forethought. When he pressed it to his lips, Elizabeth called out in distress.

“Watch out!” At this point, he had already turned into a raven _&_ a horse, & not much would surprise him at this point. He couldn’t care less what animal he turned into as long as it wasn’t a cat. He hated cats, one bit him as a kid once. Anything but a cat.

“Ugh!” He gasped, spitting out the liquid, “Elizabeth, get me something to wash it down.” She thrust a salt bottle into his hand, the only thing she had on hand, & watched him chug the whole thing, droplets of the translucent liquid slid down his chin & neck.

As Booker panted, leaning against the wall, Elizabeth picked up the vigor bottle he had tossed, only to find that it _wasn’t_ a vigor at all, “Booker! This is a cat repellent!”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He groaned, throwing his head back against the wall. Did he really just get desperate enough to drink a _cat repellent?_ If Elizabeth had any respect left for him, it was all gone by this point.

“Who puts things like that in a vigor bottle?” She mused, before putting it carefully into a bin. It wasn’t quite empty yet, but she wasn’t sure anyone would make use of a spit contaminated repellent.

“Let’s just continue to the Airship.”

~~==~~==~~==~~==

Booker wasn’t sure what had gotten over him. Elizabeth _cared_ for him. And he just went & stabbed her in the back like that. He had lied to her; he was prepared to kidnap her for his own selfish goals. Could he get any more pathetic? Apparently, he could, as he found out when Elizabeth swung a wrench at his head & he promptly lost consciousness. That would leave a bruise, he was sure of it. Or a scar if he was bleeding, but he was too out of it to know if it bled. He remembered coming in & out of consciousness, eyelids feeling heavy & body paralysed from pain. He saw Elizabeth leave the airship, & he saw people board it.

The next time he woke up, his was stood up, held over the edge of the of the airship, near dangling, very precariously over some sort of factory. It hurt, fuck did it hurt. His skin was itching all over, & he felt as if there was something underneath it that _needed to get out._

“Welcome back to the land of the living, DeWitt.” A voice called from behind him, & someone turned him around to look up at the person. He was suddenly pulled forward by his ascot to be face to face with none other than Daisy Fitzroy.

He gulped, the ascot getting a bit too tight for his liking, “Fitzroy, was it?”

Daisy looked him up & down, seizing him up, “So you’re this False Shepherd we’ve been hearing so much about. Caused a mess of trouble after the raffle.”

Booker shivered, feeling his body start contorting against his will, the stress & pain punching the breath out of his lungs, “I... I have no quarrel with you... or your... Vox... Vox...” He never finished his sentence, a scream falling from his lips. A number of Vox soldiers, as did Daisy, surged forwards as he instinctively took a step backwards, his foot slipping off the airship. Before he knew it, he was small again, although not feathery this time, & Daisy cradled him in her arms.

“Well would ya look at that. What the hell did Fink come up with this time?” She mused to herself, scratching Booker behind the ear absentmindedly. Booker begun purring at the nice sensation, completely involuntarily, before he yelped. Fluffy? Small? _Purring?_ He was a fucking _cat!_

“Uh, Miss Fitzroy.” A Vox soldier next to Daisy spoke up, looking curiously at the wailing cat who hid his face under Daisy’s arm. Booker didn’t want to look at the Vox Populi members, he didn’t want to look at himself. Not only did he turn into an animal at such an embarrassing moment, he was also a cat. Could this day get any worse?

“He’s just getting used to it.” Daisy hummed, readjusting her grip on Booker’s body. He was so fluffy & big she could barely hold onto him. What must she think about him? She knew him as the False Shepherd, so obviously she was aware of his skills. And now he had turned into a cat in her arms, & he lost all the dignity he had left.

“Mraaa.” He hissed, shifting around in her grip. Maybe if he managed to land on the ground he could still run & save some of that lost dignity? Oh, who was he kidding? Any respect these people could have had for him was completely gone.

“Now, now. Hold on. I’ve still got a job for ya there, DeWitt. These vigors never last long, the raven one clearly didn’t.” She knew about the raven incident? He was so tempted to dig a hole & bury himself in it.

“Pfft. Yeah, that was quite sumthin’.” Another soldier snorted, hiding his laugh behind his hand.

“I’ll give you back the airship, DeWitt. I know that’s what you want. You just have to get me & my people some guns.” She adjusted him so that his front paws rested on her collar bones & she could look him in the eyes. Booker looked away, eye contact not being something he was comfortable with, much less in such an embarrassing situation. He mewled sadly, then bumped his forehead against her chin as a gesture that he understood her.

“Mew.” She smiled at him, & begun petting his head again. As awkward as it was, it still felt nice. Daisy didn’t stop petting him till the airship had landed at some dock, & Daisy slipped a piece of card into his ascot.

She let him jump out of her arms, & gave him a pat on the side (which also felt bloody amazing), “Of you go now. Bring me those guns.” Then Booker hopped off the airship & arrived at the Fink factory. He hoped he’d still be able to find Elizabeth.

Catching up to her proved easy easier than expected, especially this the advantage of running on four legs & not two. What did prove to be a bother, was the fact that she kept on opening tears that hindered his progress. First a bunch of balloons, then a marching band. Now: a train under who’s wheels he had gotten stuck. Unlike in his human form, his feline body managed to get over one side of the rails before the train had come. He had no such luck with the other side, as he ended up trapped underneath a hulking behemoth of a machine, clattering & shrieking above him. His poor, sensitive kitty ears couldn’t take the loud noise, & he ended up curling up on himself, mewling in fear to calm himself down. When the train had passed & the tear was closed, he still didn’t uncurl himself.

“Oh, Mr DeWitt,” Elizabeth sighed, picking him up & cradling him in her arms. He was shivering from fear still, his kitty senses so overloaded, “You’re a thug, Mr DeWitt & I hate you. But I can’t just leave you here in this state. Let’s go.” She began walking again, but Booker wasn’t sure where, he had covered his face with his paws & just leaned into her warmth. Damn those animal genes.

“There’s the girl! Get her!” They suddenly heard someone shout, & Booker very quickly became too big for Elizabeth to hold.

“Elizabeth, I am so sorry for what I did,” He quickly told her, before she booked it behind cover & he took his gun out, dealing with the soldiers in record time. When he looked back, Elizabeth was no longer there & fear squeezed his heart, “Elizabeth?”

“Stay away from me! How dare you? I thought you were _stuck_ like that. I thought you were _defenceless.”_ Booker very quickly caught up with her, the task proving only slightly harder on two legs. He was still bigger than her, taller & stronger.

“Elizabeth! Please... ELIZABETH!” He saw her run past a Handyman, his heart jumping to his throat. He didn’t get to breathe a sigh of relief for long, as a massive metallic hand grabbed him round the middle, & tossed him like an empty bottle atop a container. He hit it with a painful thud, a pathetic little mewl breaching past his lips. The container suddenly dropped, & Booker’s mind went blank with overwhelming fear. It was by pure luck he turned into his raven self at that very moment. Elizabeth scowled at him as he flew over, the scowl only growing as he landed on her shoulder.

“What do you want, Mr DeWitt?” He cawed at her, & passed her the card Daisy had slipped under his ascot, “A gunsmith? What do you need a gunsmith for?”

“Daisy! Daisy!” He cawed, surprising himself so much he toppled off his little perch, “Guns, for Fitzroy. She’ll give us the airship in exchange.” He explained once his vocal cords resembled those of a human once again.

“You’re a thug, Mr DeWitt,” Elizabeth huffed, poking him in the chest, “And a killer. But you’re also my only way of getting out of here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Apology not accepted, but I’m ready to work with you again.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” 


	4. Boof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker hadn't liked the cat form much, but he was getting used to this whole animal transforming bussiness. Yet he had another problem on his hands right now: his fuck up at the First Lady & the guns for the Vox. Why did he always have to get himself into these situations?

Booker stumbled out of the elevator to Finkton, collapsing to his knees. His body shuddered & convulsed, but he didn’t change forms. He dug his hands into the dirt underneath him, leaving bloody trails everywhere, but he still didn’t change. Now was not the time, he wouldn’t let himself change.

“Mr DeWitt?” Elizabeth called from behind him. She did a bad job at hiding her worry for him. She was still so sweet & innocent.

“I’m fine.” He gasped out. He was far from fine as another shudder went through him. He felt sick. He could feel his bones & muscles shift underneath his skin, & everything itched. But he wouldn’t let Fink rile him up, not today.

“Puppy!”

“Wha?” Booker looked up at Elizabeth with confusion. Puppy? What puppy? He turned his head to the side, to where she seemed to be pointing. He didn’t even get a glimpse as a beige blur run into him, toppling him over onto his back. A weight settled down heavily on his chest, punching the air out of him. Something slobbery & soft dragged up his face, over & over, leaving wet trails over his cheeks & his eyes & his mouth.

“Puppy!” Elizabeth exclaimed again, squealing happily. The weight disappeared from his chest all off a sudden. Booker busied himself with wiping his face clean of dog slobber as Elizabeth cooed beside him. Some had even gotten into his mouth! He couldn’t be sure if he had swallowed it, but he needed a drink nonetheless.

“Elizabeth, can you get me some water?” She didn’t seem to be paying attention, to preoccupied with the little menace in her arms. The ‘puppy’ was in fact a smallish, older mutt with short, corse fur that was mostly beige, but for some greying around the muzzle. Despite the dog’s obvious age, they still wagged their tail violently, licking all over Elizabeth’s face with a true puppy-like excitement. Booker couldn’t take his eyes off the sight. Elizabeth sounded just as happy as the dog looked, cooing constantly at them, laughing joyfully. She snuggled her ‘puppy’, planting little kisses atop their head, which got her happy, little yips as a thank you, & a gentle doggy-kiss on the nose. It was almost mesmerising. Booker felt something bloom in his chest, a long-forgotten warmth he thought he’d never feel again.

“Mr DeWitt, you’re crying again.” Booker met Elizabeth’s eyes for only a second when she called to him. His face did seem slightly damp, but he didn’t want to believe he was crying. He didn’t cry.

“Dog slobber.”

“You’re also smiling.” The smile immediately dropped, more so because Booker felt self-conscious. He didn’t smile because it didn’t come naturally to him. Smile unconsciously like that was _weird._ Elizabeth’s smile dropped soon after, & she went back to snuggling with the pooch in her arms. Booker turned away from them, starting to walk through Finkton in search of this Chen Lin. With each step he took his strides became shorter, & he came lower to the ground. By this point Booker just said ‘fuck it’ & stopped in his tracks, letting the transformation finish. There was surprisingly no pain this time, yet the feeling of having four legs was still so foreign to him.

“Aroo!” Booker let out a loud howl, testing out his new form. A dog, not bad. A dog was intimidating, it could fight, it was useful. Much better than a _cat._

“Mr Dewitt?” Booker turned back around, heading to where he had left Elizabeth. At the sight of him she gasped, setting down the dog currently in her grasp. The dog that trotted up to him. The dog that _licked his nose_ after Booker had growled at them. Then a surprisingly thing happened. When the pooch opened up their jaw, Booker expected a bark, or a growl. And, to some extent, that was what he received. Yet he seemed to _understand_ them. He understood that dog as if they spoke English to him.

“Stop growling.” _She_ scolded him. He could smell it on her, this was a female dog he was talking too. She barely stood at chest height to him, he was a big dog, but he still felt intimidated by her. His wife used to scold him like that when he decided on doing something dumb.

He whimpered at the harsh tone, flattening his ears against his head, “Sorry.” She circled around him, then gave him a gentle nip to the backside. He jumped, scuttling closer to where Elizabeth stood, simply watching them.

“Take care of your pup, she needs you.” Then she trotted away from them, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Elizabeth watched the female dog duck behind a corner & head into a different building before she turned her attention to Booker, “Dog, huh?” He whimpered a response, moving back in front of her. She knelt down before him, a hand reaching out before his face. He gave it a gentle sniff, she still smelt of cat from when she was carrying him. But she also smelt of apples &, hmm, was that cinnamon? When had she ate apple pie? He wanted some too!

“You make a cute puppy.” Booker looked back up at her when she cooed at him, before her hand descended atop his head, giving him a scratch behind the ear.

“Boof.” Was his annoyed response. Elizabeth laughed & stood back up. She slid a finger under his ascot & held onto it as if it was a leash. He went up just barely to her hip, but his body was long & muscular. His paws were black & reddish, the sort of colouration you’d see on a Rottweiler. Yet he definitely was too short for a Rottweiler. He felt more like a Pitt Bull, a dog bred for fighting certainly suited him more than gentle dogs like Golden Retrievers. Maybe he was a mix?

“Let’s go find Chen Lin.” Elizabeth mumbled from above him. His ears perked up at her words, they still had a job to complete. He wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to him or to herself, yet he still moved closer to her, pressing his bulk against her leg.

He let out another, “Boof.” And he saw Elizabeth’s lips quirk up a notch. That was enough for him.


End file.
